


Ladies Night

by Quipxotic



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Audio 017: Sword of Orion, Community: poetry_fiction, Gen, Letters, Life After the Doctor, Post-Episode: 2015 Xmas The Husbands of River Song, Post-Episode: 2017 Xmas Twice Upon A Time, Post-Episode: s09e11 Heaven Sent, Post-Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quipxotic/pseuds/Quipxotic
Summary: River Song, Clara Oswald, and Bill Potts never expect to hear from the Doctor again. But when they all receive a mysterious summons from him, how can they refuse?





	1. The Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Poetry Fiction's January 2018 Fan Fiction challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/poetry_fiction_2018). The poetry prompt for this story is from "[On Disappearing]()" by Major Jackson (1968).
> 
> Thanks to [sanguinity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity) for beta reading and helping me past my present tense issues.

> _I hold him in my mind like a chalice._  
>  _I have not disappeared. I swish the amber_  
>  _hue of lager on my tongue and ponder the drilling_  
>  _rigs in the Gulf of Alaska and all the oil-painted plovers._

In The Library at some point in her near future, she’s plugging herself into the biggest computer in the universe in a last, desperate act of love and hope.

But at the moment she’s teaching a class at her alma mater, Luna University. River Song turns to her students and gives them her most dazzling smile. “What happened with the artifacts on Tabilvious 3 is a perfect example of one such danger. The humans and other bipedal races on the survey team evaluated the objects found at the site-” She pauses to bring up the holographic slide - items that look like a chalice, a statue of a bird, and either a cigar or cigarette hover and twinkle in the air in front of her. “And because they looked similar to objects and symbols from their own cultures, they made assumptions about the nature and form of the former inhabitants of the planet.” 

She pauses again to study the faces in front of her. Some are paying rapt attention to her every word, while other are clearly bored; but none of them are asleep, so she counts that as a win. “As a result, these items were misidentified and many completely flawed conclusions were drawn, and written about, and lectured on. However, the recent discovery of the gaseous, shapeshifting lifeforms on the relatively nearby planetoid of Dar-Locian 12 has called all that into question. The scientific team who made first contact with these lifeforms, the Vlim as they prefer to be called, noticed similar items being put to very unexpected uses.” She changes the slide and gestures to a familiarly cigar-shaped item. “Such as this sleeping tube, used by the Vlim to give themselves form and cohesion while in a resting state.” 

Dismissing the slide with a wave, River paces as she brings home the point of the lecture. “It’s natural as living beings that we bring ourselves to our work, our life experiences and the cultural expectations and norms of our people. However, an archeologist should be able to set that aside and see with new eyes. Question everything. Judge nothing. Be open to new possibilities.” She smiles. “The universe is an amazing place - be ready and open to surprises, and to connections with people from very different backgrounds. After all, this discovery was made during a dinner party conversation over the Baked Alaska.” A particularly dull party, she remembers, although the drinks were divine. The bio-engineer she’d been sat beside during dinner was really the only other highlight. River makes a mental note to call Dr. Hyden. Maybe they could get together for a few drinks? “Which illustrates my last point of the day. Always, and I do mean always…stay for the dessert.” There’s some polite laughter and she nods, satisfied. “The readings for next week are in your syllabus. Don’t forget you have to have at least three of your lab hours completed by then.” There’s a general groan from the class and she laughs. “I know, I know. Field work and volunteer projects can substitute, so I suggest you all get on that. Have a good night everyone!” 

River turns to gather her things, but something falls from her bag and flutters to the floor. Leaning down, she picks up the TARDIS blue envelope and studies it. “Now how did you come to be in my bag,” she says quietly, “because I’m very certain you weren’t in there before class.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s just showing off now, isn’t he?” Opening the envelope, she pulls out the note inside.

> “Hello Sweetie,
> 
> Told you it wasn’t over yet. 
> 
> Sorry to drop in and drop out again so quickly, but there’s a thing I need you to do. Plug these coordinates into your vortex manipulator - don’t even try denying that you still have it, I saw it in your bag. Nasty way to travel, will do terrible things to your health eventually. You’re lucky you’ve got that Time Lord-ish DNA.
> 
> Anyway, plug in the coordinates and bring your appetite. There shouldn’t be any danger, but I always say that don’t I? 
> 
> It was good to see you again. It’s always good to see you.
> 
> Love,
> 
> The Doctor”

Once she’s done reading, she folds the note and puts it back into her bag with a smile. “Here we go again.”


	2. The General

On Earth, long ago and yet still to come, she’s standing in the middle of a street waiting for a raven to end her life. 

But today she’s hiding behind a pile of debris, trying to avoid being hit by laser fire. “Daleks,” Clara Oswald mutters to herself. “I was just trying to have a nice day out. But no, there had to be Daleks.” She glances first at her watch and then at the faces of the people crouching around her. “It’s almost time. Earplugs in! Be ready to move at the signal.”

“What signal?” Nannette Hyden asks as she nervously plays with the blaster in her hands. 

“Put that away,” Clara tells her. “You’re a scientist, not a soldier.”

Nannette puts the blaster in a holster and straps it to her thigh. “Fat lot of good that’s done so far.” 

“Having blasters didn’t help the rest of my unit,” Sgt. Greer replies tersely as she checks her ammunition. Her uniform is covered with blood that isn’t her own. “What signal?”

“Oh trust me,” Clara reassures her, checking that her own ear plugs are firmly in place, “you’ll know it when it happens.” 

Suddenly Tchaikovsky’s _1812 Overture_ blares from all of the ship’s remaining loudspeakers. Clara grins as the others cringe away from the sound. One glance over the barrier shows her that the Daleks are having an even worse reaction - several are standing still and screaming, while others twirl uselessly in place. Clara has a fleeting sense of déjà vu at the sight, but pushes past it into action. 

“Now!” she yells, jumping the barrier and running toward the nearest Dalek. 

It tries to bring its gun-stick to bare but ends up spinning too far to aim accurately. When Clara reaches the Dalek she places her hands against its casing and pushes. “Oh, this is really stupid, even for me,” she says quietly, confident that the others can’t hear. Turning her head, she yells, “Push them toward the door!” She sees Sgt. Greer and the other survivors of the Explorer-Class spacecraft, the _Christina Deoja_ , pushing Daleks, sliding this way and that over the metal floor of the ship’s corridor. Nannette runs ahead of them, dodging Daleks until she can reach the door controls. Entering a code into the panel, she steps aside as the door slides open. 

“Inside! Inside!” Clara yells. Her heart feels like its beating fast enough to bounce out of her chest, but she knows that in reality its not beating at all. “Before the signal gives out!” Bouncing into each other, dodging gun-sticks and plungers, they finally manage to get the last of the Daleks inside. Clara sees a glimpse of the room - vast and empty, with grey, featureless walls - before the door slides shut again.

The music finally falls silent as the survivors crowd around Nannette and the control panel.

“So what now?” Greer asks, pulling her earplugs out and leaning over Clara’s shoulder to get a better look.

“We’ve locked them into the ETD, the Environmental Testing and Development unit,” Nannette explains as she taps buttons and adjusts dials. “It’s just what it sounds like - a place to create any environment we need in order to develop tools, hab-suits, or anything else we need before we try them in real life situations on actual planets.”

“So it’s like a hologram?”

“No, it’s real. It actually adapts to whatever parameters we give it.” Nannette finished her calculations. “And right now I’m flooding it with methane.”

“But if the Daleks shoot at anything, it’ll explode!”

“That’s the idea,” Clara says with a smile. “You said it was modular?”

The scientist nods. “I’m disengaging it from the main ship now and setting the thrusters for maximum power in the opposite direction.” She takes a few steps back. “That said, we may want to put a few bulkheads between us and it.”

“You heard the woman.” Clara grabs Nannette’s hand. “Everybody run!” 

And so they all run, hard as they can in the direction of the _Christina Deoja’s_ control room, Greer taking position in the rear of the group to close hatches as they pass. They manage to get through two before the explosion rocks the ship, knocking everyone off their feet.

The ship shudders for a few moments, then becomes still.

“At least nothing seems to have depressurized,” Clara says as she picks herself up of the decking.

“Yet.” Greer walks to the nearest sensor panel and studies the readings. “There’s a vacuum out beyond this door.”

“Better keep moving.” Clara helps some of other survivors to their feet. “You can start stabilizing the ship on the control deck, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nannette blinks, stunned. “Did we…actually defeat the Daleks? 

Clara shrugs. “It has been known to happen…sometimes.” 

“Not that I’ve ever heard of.” 

“Consider us trendsetters.” Clara smiles at the scientist. “Looks like you’ll actually get to finish that doctorate after all, Nan, if that’s what you want-”

The young woman stares at her for a moment before suddenly reaching out and hugging Clara tightly. 

Greer claps Clara on the back. “We couldn’t have done it without you, General.” 

“Yeah…about that,” Clara blushes, disentangling herself from Nannette,“ I may have exaggerated just a tiny bit. But you know…happy to help! Now go on,” she says, shooing them away, “there’s still work to do. Making sure all the Daleks were destroyed, for starters.” 

Nannette frowns. “Aren’t you coming?” 

“Yup.” Clara rocks on her heels. “I’ll be right behind you. Just want to check…something.”

She watches them go. Once they disappear around a corner, she hears a chuckle and a familiar voice behind her. “General, huh?” Ashildr teases. “They’ll build statues of you next.”

“We won’t be here long enough for that.” Clara nudges her friend. “First question: the Daleks?”

“Destroyed, as far as I can tell. They’ll have a devil of a time getting the ship back in order, but they should be able to manage it.”

“Good. Second question: Tchaikovsky? Really?”

“A bit cliched, maybe, but I’ve always liked it.” Ashildr leans against the corridor wall. “And anyway, all I really needed was some means to deliver the jamming frequency.” She reaches for something in her pocket. “Speaking of deliveries, while I was in their computer system I found this.” She hands Clara a datapad. “Look at the first message. The one that arrived pretty much when we did.”

Clara raises her eyebrows as she reads the subject line. “‘Attention: Team Not Dead’?” Touching the pad, she opens the message but finds only one short line. “‘Hi Boss! I see you’re still fighting the good fight. How about taking a breather (not that you really need to breathe any more)?’ And what are these, time and space coordinates?” 

Ashildr nods. “It has all the makings of a trap, doesn’t it?”

“Or an invitation.” 

“Be sensible. It could be the Time Lords-”

“Or it could be the Doctor.” Clara makes her way toward where their TARDIS is hidden. “And sensible is boring, anyway.”

Ashildr sighs, but follows her. “I was afraid you would say that.”


	3. The Photographer

In her recent past and the distant future, she’s kneeling on a Mondasian colony ship beside her friend and mentor, waiting to die in a body that’s no longer completely her own. 

But death didn’t come for her, the Pilot did. So today, Bill Potts picks up her camera to capture the beauty of a purple nebula. She takes the picture and checks the image with an amazed smile. “Perfect.”

“You don’t need to do that any more.” Heather comes to stand behind her. “You’re a Pilot now. You can see this any time you want just by thinking about it.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not the same is it?” She looks down at the camera. “There’s something nice about photos. They’re like…I don’t know, low tech time travel.” Bill shifts, feeling slightly uncomfortable talking about something so personal. “Besides, I spent a lot of my life with no connection to my past, nothing I could hold on to, you know? It’s good to be able to document my life now so I can look back on it and remember. Just in case I ever decide to go back to my old life…someday.”

“If that’s what you want.” Heather shrugs. “Although why you’d want to go back one small, short life on a tiny planet when you can have,“ she gestures out at space, “everything, forever.”

“A small life doesn’t mean it’s limited,” Bill says quietly, “or meaningless. Or unimportant.” She smiles and takes Heather’s arm. “But that’s a decision for later. Where’s this market you were telling me about?”

Heather places her hand over Bill’s and they slip into a new place and time. 

The market at Garazone Central is a mixture of shiny, futuristic tech and gritty, old-fashioned lash-ups.

“This is it?” Bill wrinkles her nose. “It’s a bit like the London Ice Fair the Doctor took me to, only with less ice and more obnoxious smells.” 

“I like it.” Heather drifts through the crowded streets, feet barely touching the ground. “There’s so much life here.”

“Stop that,” Bill whispers, noticing a group of people staring. “Shouldn’t we at least try to blend in?” 

“Why bother?” Heather asks, barely blinking. 

Bill begins to answer, but is distracted by a loud voice nearby. 

“Listen to me,” yells a young blonde woman in front of an apothecary shop. “You’re not listening, are you?” She’s about Bill’s age and cute, with a posh but old fashioned accent. She’s dressed the oddest way, like a waiter in a period drama, and even given the variety of species and fashions in the market, she still stands out. Bill likes her instantly. “Vortisaurs! Have you got anything for Vortisaurs?” She’s speaking to a large, grey-green gelatinous mass that looms over her, leering in a way that makes Bill uneasy. As she moves toward them, a crowd of boisterous young males of various species spill out from a nearby pub, pushing and shoving at each other drunkenly. Bill loses sight the pair for a moment; when she finds them again, the gelatinous mass is getting a bit too handsy. “Hey!” Bill yells, even though she’s still too far away to be heard, “stop that! Leave her alone!”

Clearly the blonde agrees, because she punches the creature right in what might pass for its nose. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says backing away, “but you left me no other choice.” The woman turns and runs deeper into the crowd yelling, “Doctor! Hey, Doctor?” 

Doctor? Bill frowns in confusion and then grins, suddenly hopeful. Maybe she was wrong, maybe he was alive! “Hey you!” Bill calls, running after the girl. “Just wait a moment.” For a while she can see her short blonde hair bobbing as she runs, but the crowd gets denser and Bill loses her. “‘Scuse me,” she says as she pushes through. “Oh sorry mate, was that your…tentacle? Whoops! Sorry, sorry. I’m just trying to catch a girl, you know how it is. Whoa, watch it!”

“Oy,” she mutters to herself in frustration, “maybe floating is the way to go.” Finally she steps into the open and finds herself in a courtyard where the crowd disperses in many directions. There’s no sign of the girl she’s chasing.

“Damnit!” Bill grumbles. But she doesn’t have to run after people like this any more, unless she wants to. She has other options now. Closing her eyes, she reaches out with her thoughts, searching with one word on her mind: Doctor.

She sees a room - no, a shop. It’s cluttered with odds and ends, most of it junk. But she knows the Doctor is there, so she wills herself to be there too. She feels herself turn into liquid (What had the Doctor called it? Space oil?) and in moments she’s reassembling herself in front of a storefront that seems to be made of scrounged materials left over from crashed spaceships. Over the door a sign reads “Starfarer’s Curio and Bookstore.” Grinning, Bill pushes the door open…

…And runs smack into a young man hurrying out. She hits the floor of the entryway with a hard thump on her backside. 

“Whoops,” the young man says, leaning down to help her up. “Sorry about that, Miss. After all this time, I should learn to watch where I’m going. Maybe one day I will?”

“No, totally my fault,” Bill says, awkwardly dusting herself off. She spots the blonde from the market standing just behind the man and turns back to study him intently. With his long, curly brown hair and green velvet jacket, he looks like someone dressed for a costume party as some weird combo of Lord Byron and a Wild West dandy. Some might consider him handsome, but what he isn’t is her Doctor. “Sorry,” she says, trying to hide her disappointment, “I was looking for my friend. You haven’t seen him have you? Tall bloke with wild grey hair, a Scottish accent, kind of grumpy, and endless amounts of sarcasm?”

“No, but he sounds fun,” the Eighth Doctor says grabbing the girl’s hand. “I’m sorry but Charley and I have to dash. We’ve got to check on my ship. It’s probably fine, but it’s best to be sure. I mean, you never know with smugglers, do you? GravPads are this way I think-“ He turns and runs, pulling his friend in the direction of the space port. 

“Sorry!” the girl, Charley, yells apologetically over her shoulder. She gives Bill a little wave with her other hand. “I hope you find…whoever it is you’re looking for.” 

“Thanks,” Bill replies quietly as she waves back.

Within seconds, they’re gone.

Bill sighs. She was so sure he was here. Perhaps he is, she thinks suddenly, just somewhere else in the shop? She makes her way into the store, which is dimly lit and crowded with all sorts of junk - just as in her vision. Searching for any sign of the Doctor, something on one of the shelves catches her eye. She turns to look, frowning slightly, and freezes in place as she recognizes what it is. 

A thin shaft of light from a skylight glints off a golden Cyberman head. Bill feels her stomach churn with anxiety and nausea, and has to take several deep breathes to calm herself down. After a moment, she reaches out and picks up the head. 

On closer inspection, it isn’t a real one - it’s just a model, or perhaps a really creepy paperweight. She huffs a nervous laugh and notices the pile of papers the head had been sitting on top of. They’re familiar and, when she takes a closer look, she gasps. “The Mechanics of Free Will’?” she says out loud to the empty room, “But…that’s my essay!” Laying the Cyberman head down elsewhere, she picks up the paper only to spot more underneath. “They’re all mine,” she exclaims, thumbing through the pile. “They’re the essays I wrote for the Doctor back at university! But…how’d they get here?” On the bottom of the stack she finds the last essay she’d written, the one she’d turned in before they took Missy on her so-called test run of being good. She reads the title with a wry smile.“‘Redemption and Forgiveness.’ If you’d done a bit less of that, maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they did, huh?” She sighs. “But then you wouldn’t have been you, right Doctor?” Bill looks through the essay, reading his comments in the margins and hearing his voice in every line. After a moment she tastes salt and realizes she’s crying. “Silly old man,” she says, wiping her eyes. She stops, squinting at something on the last page. It’s in the same TARDIS blue ink, but a different handwriting.

> “Hello Bill,
> 
> Graduation day is here, isn’t it? Or maybe you’re far past that now - time travel always complicates personal timelines in the most interesting ways. Regardless, you’re probably ready for your final grades and a bit of a celebration. Go to Zycarian’s on the planet Dalphas in the year 3050, relative Earth time. Be there or be square, you brilliant, ridiculous girl.
> 
> The Doctor
> 
> PS - I’m glad you’re not dead too.” 

Bill looks up from the page and grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Eighth Doctor Big Finish story that Bill find herself in the middle of is "[Sword of Orion](https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/sword-of-orion-642)."


	4. Raise a Glass

The restaurant is decked out like an old fashioned speakeasy but with a few anachronistic elements, like a gleaming metal bar that would be more at home in a 1950s diner. It has plenty of dark nooks for covert discussions of off-the-books deals, but the food is reportedly good and the atmosphere is lively. River approves of the choice. 

She scans the room for the Doctor but spots none of his incarnations. However, there is a table with a small, blue police box sitting in the middle. It’s the model her mother made as a child, so many years ago.

“Hello River!” The brown haired woman seated at the table smiles up at her brightly. She looks surprised but very pleased. 

“Hello,” River replies somewhat cautiously as she take a seat. “Do I know you?”

“Oh!” The woman frowns and looks flustered. “Perhaps not yet.” She holds out her hand. “Clara Oswald.”

River shakes it slowly, realization dawning on her face. “Ah, I see. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Ms. Oswald.”

“Clara, please.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Does that mean you’ve seen the Doctor recently?”

River laughs. “You could say that. We just spend two decades together, mostly on Darillium.” She smiles wistfully for a moment, before shrugging and flashing Clara an embarrassed look. “But you know how it is with the Doctor. Life must go on.”

“Until it doesn’t,” Clara mutters quietly, but changes the subject quickly. “Any idea why we’re here?”

“None.” River nods at the remaining chair. “Although we’re clearly expecting someone else.”

“It could be for my friend.” Clara frowns. “I tried to get Ashildr to join me, but she and the Doctor don’t always get on.”

“Does the Doctor ‘always get on’ with anyone?”

“That’s what I said!”

River looks at the empty chair. “So it could be meant for your friend, or the Doctor-“

“Or it could be for me.” A young woman pauses beside their table, staring at River. “Bill Potts,” she says in a hasty introduction as she sits down. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”

“Have you?” River asks.

“Yeah. He has a picture of you on his desk at the university.” Bill shakes her head. “The Doctor, I mean. He’s my tutor.” She frowns. “Or he was. It’s…complicated.””

River and Clara share a knowing look. “Just to be clear,” Clara begins, “you’re talking about the tall, grey-haired, Scottish version of the Doctor, right?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Thirteen actually,” River replies, “if you count the one during the Time War and almost everyone who isn’t the Doctor counts him.” 

Bill thinks about that. “Multiple Doctors? Just like there were multiple versions of Missy.” She shrugs. “Makes sense if they were both Time Lords. I wonder-” 

“Missy?” Clara looks startled. “You’ve met her too?”

“Now ladies, let’s not get distracted.” River turns to Bill. “If you don’t mind me asking, when did you last see him?”

Bill looks at her hands. “We were trying to save a group of children from the Cybermen, right? They needed a diversion so he and I…we fought the Cybermen until they could escape. Then the Doctor triggered an explosion…” She swallows hard and looks up to meet River’s gaze. “By the time I found him, he was just…gone. Or, I thought he was gone. Now I’m not so sure.”

River studies her closely. “You didn’t see him regenerate?”

“Regenerate? Oh, you mean the golden, glowing thing he does?”

“Yeah” Clara nods, “it’s a way Time Lords continue on when their bodies become too damaged to survive.”

“No, there wasn’t anything like that.”

“So what happened next?” River asks.

“Well, I couldn’t leave him there, could I? So a…friend and I took his body back to the TARDIS.” Bill shrugs. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“It was.” River looks at Clara. “He could actually be dead this time. He used to say there were rules about the number of regenerations.”

“But the Time Lords did a thing,” Clara waves her hand vaguely, “you know, gave him more lives. That’s why-“

“Excuse me ladies.” They all lean away from the table as a waitress sets down three glasses full of an amber liquid. “Time Swallow Lager. It’s the house specialty.” 

“We didn’t order this-“

“Maybe not, but it’s paid for already, just like your meals.” The waitress pushes a strand of blond hair out of her eyes and retrieves a blue envelope from her pocket. “Compliments of someone called the Doctor.” 

“Did you see him?” Bill asks eagerly as River snatches the letter. 

The woman shrugs. “All this was left before my shift. I’ll come back to get your orders later, shall I?” She smiles and, without waiting for an answer, leaves to see to other tables. 

River waits until she’s out of earshot before she begins reading the letter aloud:

> “Dear River, Clara, and Bill, 
> 
> Sorry I can’t be there in person. A thing happened, as it always does, and I’ve been unavoidably detained. But I wanted the three of you to have a chance to know each other. You may find that you have a lot in common, both from knowing me and your own adventures out in the universe. And, while it doesn’t come close to representing how much you mean to me, consider this evening a small gesture of thanks. You’re all brilliant and my lives would’ve been so much less interesting without each one of you.
> 
> So here’s to three wonderful ladies who refused to disappear into history and decided to explore it instead. I’d say see you around but, you know - spoilers. 
> 
> The Doctor”

Clara takes the letter and studies it. “It isn’t his hand-writing, or at least it isn’t the handwriting of the two I knew best.”

“No,” River says, “but it is very much his style and it matches this.“ She hands Clara the note she received at Luna University. “It's what brought me here.“

Clara lays both letters on the table and studies them. “You’re right.”

“Can I see?” Bill asks. Once Clara hands the letters over, Bill pulls a stack of papers from her bag. “I found these on a planet I was visiting. They’re essays I wrote for the Doctor, and on the last one there’s something…” She compares the handwriting to both River’s note and the one the waitress brought them. “Yeah, they match.” She hands them to River. “See?”

“Could this be a trap?” Clara glances around. “Something the Time Lords set up? Or maybe Missy?” 

“It could be, but I doubt it,” River scoffs. “If this was arranged by the Time Lords we’d already be up to our eyebrows in TARDISes, time paradoxes, and temporal shenanigans of every imaginable kind. The ones I’ve met were hardly subtle, and that goes doubly for the Master.”

“So the Doctor actually called us here? Why?”

“Maybe it’s exactly what all the notes say it is,” River hands Bill’s essay back to her, “a chance to celebrate with people he cares about.”

“So why isn’t he here?” A nearby couple glances at Bill and she lowers her voice. “He has a time machine. I mean, admittedly she doesn’t always do what he asks her to-”

Both Clara and River chuckle at that.

“True. And there could be some legitimate reason that, due to causality, he can’t show up here. But, honestly, based on the handwriting, I’d say that he’s just regenerated.”

“So what? I’ve seen that before.” Clara nods at River. “So have you, probably. That’s no reason to not join us.”

“No, it isn’t,” River agrees with a resigned sigh. “But he’s also been known to throw his own wake before. Maybe that’s what he’s doing here? Assuming he is still a he.”

“Come again?” Bill asks. 

“Ah well that is a story, on both counts,” River grins, her eyes twinkling. “And I’ll be happy to tell you all about it. But first, a toast I think.” She reaches out for the glass of beer in front of her. “Will you two join me? 

“A toast?” Bill frowns. “But we don’t even know what’s going on.”

“No, but that’s hardly a reason to let it spoil a ladies night out, is it?” She raises her glass. “To the Doctor: the most wonderful, most infuriating person I have ever known.”

Bill looks at Clara. “If it’s trouble,” Clara says with a smile, “we’ll find out soon enough anyway. Might as well enjoy it until then, right?” She raises her own glass and clinks it against River’s. “To the Doctor and...to remembering our past while exploring the future.” 

“You’re both completely bonkers,” Bill laughs. “But why not?” She picks up her glass. “To the Doctor. Wherever he-“

“Or she,” River adds.

“Or she,” Bill amends, “is. Probably somewhere far away, saving the universe as usual.” 

As they drink, their waitress leans against the bar watching them with a wistful smile on her face. 

“Know that crowd?” the bartender asks, glancing at her as he fills orders. 

“Maybe, you know?” The Thirteenth Doctor grins. “In different life.”

A noise comes from the kitchen. Moments later, a waiter runs out with a panicked look on his face. “There’s some bloke here - big, with green skin and a weird voice. Says he’s looking for a Doctor and someone called Kate Stewart?” The waiter looks at the Doctor. “Stewart, isn’t she your friend?” 

“Friend?” The bartender looks confused. “I thought they were sisters.” 

“Whoops!” The Doctor turns and begins hastily untying her apron. “Time to go, I think.”

“Go?” The bartender is indignant. “But you’ve got a shift to finish!”

“Yeah well, it’s either that or have the restaurant overrun by Ice Warriors. And trust me, they’re not pleasant guests, especially when they’re cross and they almost always are.” She darts back into the kitchen and grabs a long, neutral-colored coat with blue lining off of a peg. “And anyway, I can’t have them spoiling dinner, can I? They haven’t even gotten around to saying nice things about me yet.” Shrugging into the coat, she yells, “Kate! You better’ve gotten what you needed! Meet me at the TARDIS in five minutes.” 

The Ice Warrior lumbers out of the kitchen’s freezer and glares at her. “Doctor!”

She gives him an embarrassed wave and turns to yell over her shoulder. “Make that two minutes, Kate! And, while you’re at it…run!” Taking her own advice, she sprints out the back door.

A few alleys away the TARDIS waits, humming quietly. Another adventure is about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the Thirteenth Doctor/Kate Stewart sister joke should go to [circular time (auronlu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auronlu/pseuds/circular%20time) who is the first person I saw point out the resemblance.


End file.
